This blog is not fitting for children, the super religious, people that do not curse, and those that object to partial nudity, primal urges, fornication, bodily functions, and selective morality.
I'm just a single gal and a rowdy individual that loves to laugh. I'm accidentally sexy and Confidently Awesome. I kiss and tell! This is my life according to me.

Saturday, August 3, 2013

A Shopping Adventure

This evening the Little Rotten Ladies and I are Tax Free Tennessee shopping for practical things like fancy first day of school outfits. At Kohls I find the absolutely perfectly darling daschund t-shirt. I don't just want this shirt, I have an overwhelming desire for the soft green material to envelope my upper body. I need this t-shirt. Of course there is a problem. The green tee is a size medium. Nothing on my body has been a medium for nine years.

Before I am overtaken by utter disappointment I seek out a sales clerk to find my size. Pandora and Phaedra follow me. A couple of aisles over I find four sales ladies gathered around the t-shirt tables. They are busying themselves by folding the aftermath of the tax-free holiday disaster.

I kindly ask them, "Where are the rest of these t-shirts located?" I hold up the daschund tee, "I need a different size."

"That's the last one. We don't got no more unless it's misplaced."

They begin explaining how I could possibly order the t-shirt somewhere called on the line, but I'm too busy screaming inside my head.

I exclaim, "Seriously?"

They look at me, "Yes."

I clench the t-shirt in both of my hands and yell, "NOOOOOO!!!!" as I throw myself to the floor. I rock myself back and forth. I writhe on the floor as I impersonate Nancy Kerrigan, "Why? Why me? Why???"

All of the sales ladies stop completely what they are doing. I see the looks on their faces and I know they are contemplating calling security or Lakeside. They look at each other and the questions are forming, "Over a t-shirt, really?"

For starters it's not just a t-shirt. No ma'am. It is the most spectacular shade of kelly green with little, baby, navy colored daschunds placed on it like polka dots. All of which I love. The fabric is soft like a vintage tee, the exact amount of broken in for utmost comfort. It is perfect! So excuse me while I sulk and mourn.

Pandora and Phaedra are standing there stunned. The looks on their faces are priceless! They look at each other and in an instant utilize the power of unspoken sibling communication. It is the exact same look I have seen on the faces of EngineerBrother and MarineBrother when the Silver Fox begins chewing out everyone in sight for bad service, an unacceptably unclean table set with dirty utensils, or the server for vacuuming underneath us while we are eating. It is the exact moment we know we are leaving without eating; a sad parade of disappointment that reminiscing twenty years later can send us into hysterical fits of laughter.

The girls cannot tell if I am serious or yanking someone's chain. Pandora scatters and Phaedra disappears like she has melted into a clothing rack.

At this point I'm laughing so hard the sales ladies think I'm crying. I stand up, brush off my knees, and with a straight face say, "I'm just messing with y'all. I'll go to your Collierville store to pick up the t-shirt."